Raised in Hell
by Shadowdragon1317
Summary: The Oath-Breaker had intercepted Morzan's Black Hand before she died, and before the eyes of his parents, took the son of Brom back with him to Uru'baen. Now, fifteen years later, Eragon escapes his foster father to find his true parents. But then his plan changes when a dragon egg is sent to him... (rated T just in case!)
1. Prologue: The Prisoner

**Hey guys! Yet another story from yours truly! But until I get my other two done, this story won't be updated frequently.**

**Well, I have to thank Tamerlain85 for this story's title! Thank you!**

**Now, the journey of Raised in Hell begins!**

His brown, choppy hair whipped to the side as he frantically flung his hand across his sweat beaded brow. The teen's chestnut eyes scoured behind him to see if he was being followed; whilst panting like a dog on a hot summer day, he increased his speed as he envisioned the clatter of armor from the guards. Cursing his luck to all the gods above, the fifteen year-old leapt from the ground to the top of one of the grand chandeliers that was hanging from the Main Corridor. Smirking triumphantly about how easily he avoided their detection, he looked downwards and caught a glimpse of his assailants. Four Empire soldiers, clad in glittering golden tunics emphasizing the Empire of which they served, proceeded down from where he had been running from. The teen resigned himself to hiding in the fancy fixture as the Empire guards stood, frowning in confusion and bewilderment of their escapees location. confused about were their escapee went

"Blast it, the king will have our heads if we can't find that brat," a man garbed in the finest silver armor swore. The brown-eyed teen, who seemed to be the source of the guards' confusion, knew that it was Vándr, the head guard of the castle. They never really saw eye-to-eye.

Another soldier whistled them over to another spot location further down the hallway. The men quickly ran over to their comrade, their armor clanking the entire time before it to faded to nothingness. That sound always annoyed his ears.

Carefully examining his surroundings, he murmured phrases in the Ancient Language. "Sjá útan." See beyond. Immediately, the magic sapped the energy from his limbs like a tick, creating an increase of his fatigue. But it didn't kill him, thankfully.

The spell quickly took effect. His eyes focused-in towards the Empire scum he had been searching for. They were checking in the rooms where the nobles slept when they visited the citadel of Uru'baen, thinking he ducked out down there. Nearly falling off the chandelier, he once again knew that Galbatorix hired idiots. _But be thankful for dear old dad's poor judgment in employees, _he thought to himself, completely amused, _I wouldn't be able to escape otherwise._

As quietly as he could, he quickly released his cramped fingers from the light fixture's golden loops, and therefore, again, uniting with gravity and hit the marble floor. He landed with a small _thud. _He looked to-and-fro, heart racing, he making sure that nothing, even a mouse, had heard the small noise. To his relief, there was nothing but a small draft.

Releasing a breath, he didn't know he'd been holding, the boy swiftly picked himself up again. Then his escape continued, he raced through the numerous passageways that left many servants lost, the escapee finally found what he had been looking for.

A small window, about a few feet above his head, this opening rekindled the hope that had coursed through his heart when he first thought of freedom. The one thing that eluded him even when Eragon used all of his abilities. The one thing he'd longed for.

_Ahhh.. Freedom. _It had been so long away and that it had been tantalizing.

But soon, he knew that, the hunger in his being would be appeased.

Gathering up both his waning strength and fraying nerve, he launched himself toward his exit. He felt the cold stonehug his finger-tips, as he gripped the tiny ledge with as much force as he could muster, which was dwindling indeed, which was evident to his trembling limbs.

Climbing up the wall, he slowly pushed his feet out of the hole in the wall. Then he heaved himself out.

The scent of fresh air smeared his nose. A breath-taking whiff of the impossible, and it had been done. He inhaled it deeply, as he never knew how long the smell could last. Bright sunlight shattered upon the courtyard radiating in shards of brilliance and bathed all in warmth. He almost forgot where he was. Almost.

His instinctual drive brought him swiftly back to his senses. He briefly, but thoroughly, scanned his surroundings.

There was a long brick fence surrounding the king's castle, with guard towers marking every entrance to Galbatorix's home. Using the spell that lengthened his vision once again, he scanned the posts, evidently delighted afterwards to find them empty. Relieved, the boy nearly whopped for joy at finally making it this far. He put a shaky hand through his sweat enveloped hair, but then realized that he was still exposed.

Shaking his head as if to clear it from a haze, his feet pounded the grass as he made his way to the final threshold separating him from long-awaited freedom. Caution still clouded over his mind, but the boy tried his best to suppress the uneasiness. That independence was so close that he could almost taste it. But the sensation was short-lived; cruel fate had seemed to have striked again.

With a yell that came out of nowhere, the Empire soldiers appeared out of the brush, wielding swords and crossbows alike. Gritting his teeth over what had been inches from his grasp, he turned to meet his opponents.

"Put your hands up!" yelled a man from behind a thick bush. The attempted escapee could not recognize who its owner was. It was just another face in a nameless crowd of strangers.

But nevertheless, he complied to the soldiers' commands. He raised both his hands in defeat above his head, whilst cursing the very name of the Empire. _For now,_ the boy knew, _I once again have to endure my own personal prison._

Four of the guard came up to him and nudged him forward. Unfortunately, Vándr was among the men. He whipped across the prince's face with the hilt of his sword. He whispered into the teen's ear,

"You nearly cost me both my position and my life, you ungrateful little worm," rasped the foaming soldier.

The escapee already knew that Vándr was moments away from losing control of his anger, but his mocking side got the better of his judgment.

"At least you are not living in my position." Hatred danced upon his face, and then propelled the spittle and blood which had gathered among the side of his mouth, straight to Vandr's face.

Roaring in hostility, Vándr made aim with his weapon towards the back of the boy's neck. For the first time that day, a cold shiver ran down the escapee's spine as the familiar scar was grazed.

As a crossbow was jammed into his back, the teen went back inside his 'home'. _As if, _Eragon thought with a growl, _a prison, even a beautiful one, is still a prison._

Again, as if retracing his steps, the five made their way back into Galbatorix's chambers. The guards pushed him to his knees and closed the heavy oak door behind them.

The cold voice of his adopted father killed the silence that hung over the room like a storm cloud. "I see that you've returned to your rightful place, my son." the voice purred, dripping with fake relief. It nearly made the teen sick with the sound of it.

He swallowed the bile at the back of his throat. Coldly, the escapee whipped around to see the king standing right behind him. Unlike most, the teen raised his head to meet the glare of Galbatorix.

Baring his teeth like an enraged wolf, the boy spoke "I am not your anything. I am Eragon, I am and always will be."

**I hope this beginning was good! Please review if it was!**

**Review Question: Was this okay?**

**Dragon Out!**


	2. Explanation

**Hey, made a new chapter! I thank every single one of you who reviewed! You guys are awesome!**

**Now presenting the next chapter of Raised in Hell!**

Galbatorix chuckled, a rumbling noise that sounded like claws on a boulder. But Eragon didn't dare wince. No matter what the king did, Eragon knew that he mustn't show any type of emotion. If anyone knew what his feelings were, it was like knowing part of his true name. They would hold power over him. The teen had learned that fact long ago from Galbatorix, unfortunately.

Despite that the Mad King wanted to speak with his foster son, the teen didn't want to hear it. So, calmly and coolly, Eragon motioned to exit the throne room. But as he took a single step, his limbs froze in place. He could still breathe, and talk as well, but it was as if his arms and legs obeyed some other person. Eragon knew that the king had muttered a phrase in the Ancient Language, but what caught the boy off guard was the fact that Galbatorix had done it so quickly. The king's reflexes were still as sharp as ever, despite being over a century old.

Growling like a wolf about to attack, Eragon queered, "Resulting to trickery once again, old man."

"Be sure to silence your sarcastic nature when you are in the presence of both your king and father." Galbatorix snapped. Eragon rolled his eyes, but dared not to push the dragon rider further. The old man was unstable, so there is no telling what he would do if he got into a rage.

But Eragon cared not for this mad king. He had raised the teen that much was true. But Eragon never felt compassion or love for his foster father. Galbatorix always did his best to belittle or abuse the teen in the most inhumane ways as possible. But what sickened the attempted escapee was that the older man seemed to _enjoy_ what he did to Eragon. As if it was an exciting game to play.

The experiences were terrifying. All that Eragon could recall from most of them was blood, dripping down over his eyes. Bruises were always present after word. Brown and white mottled scars freckled his back and chest.

A chill encased the very core of the fifteen year old as he remembered the worst one of his private tortures. The memento of that attack was shown on the back of his neck…

_Eragon had been six years old during that time. __He was crying, as he had long cuts down his forearms because of Galbatorix. The little boy ran out after the king had finished, and instead of going to his room like the monarch had asked, he started to run. _This was the first time he had tried to escape this unforgiving place, and all he could think was, _**run faster! **_

_They'll catch me!__The castle's gray walls and seemingly endless hallways daunted Eragon, but never once did he turn back. The pictures on the wall and the colorful furniture that littered the floorboards was all but a ruse. A beautiful palace, with an ugly secret. _

_But he wasn't as smart back then as he was now, otherwise he would've gotten away. Because as he rounded the first corner of the castle, a soldier appeared in front of the little boy. His face had a long, jagged scar running down his cheek, his face ashen with age. His hair, once raven, now streaked gray along the tips. His eyes were a sort of green like the grass, but held much sadness.__Those green orbs saw an entirely cruel world, because that soldier would not stop staring at the slashes along the young boy's arms._

_But Eragon never stopped staring at the long broadsword strapped at the man's side. His tiny hands held above his face, the young boy started to back away, as he had thought that this guard would hurt him like all of the others. But once the man saw where Eragon was looking at, he unbuckled the belt and lay it on a table near the wall. _

_The room had two long tables near the sides. A giant picture of the king was on the side with the broadsword. It depicted Galbatorix smiling down upon the corridor, as if giving it his blessing. It made Eragon sick to his stomach._

_The padded couches and pillows showed hues of gold, light red, and many different colors, making it appear like a misshapen rainbow._

_The soldier, obviously trying to gain the little boy's trust, sunk down onto his knees and offered his hand to Eragon. His eyes were full of kindness. "I'll help you get back to where you belong, Young Master."_

_For some reason, the little boy complied without complaint. The boy nervously put out his tiny hand and the man grasped it with tenderness. He obviously was a very fatherly figure._

_Together, like a father and son should, they made their way back to Galbatorix's chambers. But as Eragon tried to go in, the soldier held him back. The six year old looked up, confused. But the man just smiled._

_"Hold on a second, Young Prince," this wasn't the first time someone had called Eragon that, but it was the most respectful. When the boy wouldn't stop staring at his feet, he felt the guard's hand go underneath his chin and perked his head up. The soldier smiled. It was neither mocking, nor a tormented smile. This one was kind and gentle, which was something the young boy never experienced before._

_"You seem to have a few scratches, let me help you," the soldier then grasped a corner of his tunic. He ripped off some of the fabric and started to make the cloth into several strips. He placed them each around a cut that Eragon received. The entire time, the man was telling him about his family._

_"I have the most beautiful wife. She is as kind as they go. We were married a month after we met," the soldier stopped to grab another piece, and begun as if he never stopped._

_"We had always talked about having a son. She wanted a boy who she could care and love. As did I. But alas, she couldn't conceive. We were devastated. So every chance I took to help others with their children, I grabbed at it like a hungry beggar. But then I was drafted…" he paused to swallow uncomfortably._

_"The army had seen my skills with a sword when I was practicing with one from a blacksmith. I was at war with the Varden for two years, and after a bad shoulder injury I was drafted here," the guard stopped, though the little boy willed him to continue. _

_Speaking for the first time to the stranger, Eragon asked, "What is your name?" His voice sounded small and weak. But the guard seemed to be pleased to share._

_"Pater." The guard spoke with a rush of breath. "My name is Pater, young Prince."_

_Trying his hardest to return Pater's kind smile, Eragon spoke, "Call me Eragon, Mr. Pater."_

_The happiness on the Empire soldier's face made even the little boy relax. It was if the little boy agreed to come home with Pater and his wife and be their son. Maybe he had._

_Then, hand in hand, Eragon and Pater walked into the lion's den. Galbatorix still sat in his dragon wing throne, contempt lingering on his gaze. Immediately, Eragon ran behind Pater, cowering in fear of the monarch. Putting a reassuring hand on the child's shoulder, Pater turned to the king._

_"I was just escorting, Prince Eragon back to his room, Your Majesty." Pater even seemed to be unhinged at the gruesome sight of King Galbatorix. But then the look on the Mad King's gaze turned to anger, and Eragon felt fear once again. _

_"Brisingr!" the monarch yelled in a rage._

_The floor in front of Pater turned into a flickering flame, where reds, oranges, and yellows sparked in frenzy. Galbatorix stood up from his throne and walked down the stairs in front of him with a snarl. The fire seemed to flare up in response to every step the king took._

_With a flick of the wrist, the king swung out his white sword, Vrangr. Crying out, Eragon knew that the sword was going to be set upon him again. But the king thrust the pale colored sword into the heat of the flames, heating it to extreme temperatures. Then he came over to Pater, who stood tall, about to take his punishment like a man. For some reason, that appeared to enrage the unstable king even further. Putting the sword dangerously close to the guard's face, the king whispered, "Never touch my son again!" With that said, the king yelled and thrust the sword into Pater's eye._

_The fatherly man screamed before falling on the floor, convulsing in death throws. Eragon was terrified, he would not stop crying. Tears streaked the sides of his face as the Mad King turned to him._

_Galbatorix looked like an avenging angel in the firelight, ready to take him into the very pits of the earth. The monarch held his sword to the back of his foster son's neck, and once again, his whisper sent backlashes of fear through his body._

_"I'm always going to be your father, whether you like it or not."_

_That was when the sword on fire was slashed into his neck…_

Eragon woke up days later in his bedroom, surrounded by healers and his own blood. He had been lucky to be alive. But the scar on the back of his neck never healed, and it never stopped burning…

**Hoped you guys liked it!**_  
_

**Review Question: Did you like Pater?**

**Dragon Out!**


	3. Symbolically Equal

**Thank you to all who reviewed! But please review if you finish the chapter! I want to hear what you think of it!**

**Now presenting... Chapter 3!**

Being both frozen and defenseless against his step father's wrath didn't terrify Eragon anymore. That ship has sailed. But it did enrage him a great deal. What is the point of injuring someone who can't fight back? The cheap feeling of a hollow victory? Pathetic.

But apparently any win is good for King Galbatorix, no matter how low you have to stoop. It was almost sad really.

Eragon will take any attack that is thrust upon him, unlike many other men who cry down onto their knees, begging for mercy. It's just degrading and helps Galbatorix underestimate the fifteen year old.

Eyes that reflected the coldness of sea ice, Eragon's span of attention wanders to Vrangr. The sword was meant to resemble the purity of the color white. Beauty, grace as well. But it showed uneasiness. Madness. Everything that represented the monarch was seen on his sword. And only he and Murtagh know that the weapon explains the man.

Murtagh was the son of Morzan, the First and Last of the Forsworn. Morzansson was older than Eragon by about nigh on three years, eighteen. A long, twisted scar ran across the man's back. A silent reminder of how Morzan sliced his great sword through his son's back like a hot knife through butter. It had given Eragon the image that they were both symbolically equal.

Many people feared Murtagh because of his sire. But Eragon cared not who fathered his only companion. As he himself is in no position to judge, Eragon considered Murtagh as the only person he could trust, other than himself.

For if he could not trust his own sense of judgment then what does he have left?

Hearing a graining sound, Eragon winced a smidge before he caught himself. Again, his impulses for reactions had to be suppressed; else the Mad King might use it against his foster son. Barely taking a second to glance upward and down again, he saw that it had been Galbatorix releasing Vrangr from its scabbard, all the while showing its deadly grace. The monarch nonchalantly swung it close to Eragon's chest, nearly hitting directly into his heart. But then the teen laughed inside his mind, _where my heart **should **be._

"Will you repent for your sin?" the madman questioned, sounding like a priest from Helgrind. Eragon had been to Dras-Leona only once, when he was taken by his foster father. _'To show the common folk that even the mighty help the weak' _were Galbatorix's exact words. Even though everyone knew he was a tyrant.

_They had been there only two days, but the entire time Eragon loathed the Angvard in the mortal world. It was a crowded city with people sick and dying on the streets. But that wasn't what disturbed him, for Eragon sympathized with the citizens. All of them abused by Galbatorix's hand._

_What had angered the teen mainly was how the higher class party treated the lowly wanderers. How they beat a poor man begging for scraps. When a fat lady slapped a small, little girl when she begged to work to help her dying father. Eragon went to give her some of his measly pocket change, which was when the monarch roared with fury._

_"Why are you helping a beggar?" he snarled. It was if he were one of the street dogs, barking at anyone who got between them and food._

_"She needs it more than I do." Eragon stated, pulling his hand from his tunic and grabbing a few crowns. Without hesitation, Eragon pushed aside that spoiled woman and gave the money to the girl._

_"Take it," he whispered, "Take it, and don't look back. Run!"_

_Nodding and with an appreciative look, she ran off. The young girl ran around a corner and disappeared into the busy fray of the city._

_After the trip had been over, the whipping had commenced immediately. On his back, his chest, forearms… no place spared, all the while the king shouted,_

_"Never help the weak! For if the weak forget who is greater than they, who will they follow?!"_

The silence alerted Eragon to full attention. The teen knew that Galbatorix should be yelling or howling in fury. For Eragon knew what would come next from each reaction. But when the king is as quiet as death itself, that's when to be afraid. The silence is unpredictable.

But soon, the reminding of the flogging brought the image back into Eragon's mind_. _

And like it was in sync with the past, just as the memory of the flogging seeped into the fifteen year old's mind, that was when the monarch brought the white sword upon his foster son's face.

Releasing control, Eragon felt himself slip when the pain became too much for him to bear anymore, Galbatorix stopped. The spell holding him in place dispersed into nothingness. He fell to the tile flooring, streaking it scarlet. Galbatorix walked right next to his foster son's scarred face. Tiredly and weakly, the teen lifted his eyes to meet the king's glare.

"You always were the weak one." Galbatorix said as he blurred in Eragon's vision. The last thing he saw was the white gleam of the sword drenched in his blood.

_The clatter of their horses' hooves gave the elf some level of concern. They sensed something, but they don't know what. Their manes whipped in the wind, while the white steeds reared up in fright. Worried, she touched the minds of her companions, to display her worry without showing it upon her beautiful face._

**_The horses know a predator is near._**_ The female elf's voice was powerful and strong, which some say is unnatural for a woman. But her friends knew her well enough to expect this from Arya Dröttningu. _

**_Aye, but soon enough the wind will change direction, and give us the knowledge of who is watching. _**_A male voice, who the female voice knew it, had been Fäolin, the oldest of the three. He was over six hundred years old, but never looked a day over twenty. Fäolin had long, raven hair and eyes that matched deep pools. At his side was his sword, which he called_ _Hrafn. The elf had been an apprentice to Rhunön, before she took her oath to never again to make a weapon of death. Hrafn had been his pride and joy, as it was the first sword he ever made. The color was of midnight, and when the sun shone upon the weapon the color would ripple and flash as if made by water. _

_Upon Fäolin's opposite side held his quiver of arrows lain with swan feathers. Arya knew that Fäolin's aim was true, and that he never missed. He kept the quiver upon his back. _

_Glenwing was quiet, though the other two knew he was deep in thought. His gray hair made others think he was old, but it was because he admired many pelts of the Shrrg and his eyes were the palest, misty twilight. His own brother was slain upon battle with the Forsworn, as were the rest of his family. Not much he spoke about, but he did sing beautifully. Glenwing listened to the different calling birds and creating spellbound melodies that always touched her heart._

**_But how do you know that the north wind will change? _**_Arya shook her head, worries once again fogging her mind. Fäolin gave a charming wink and a tiny smirk, while he sent out the thought, _

**_Magic always has its uses._**

_Muttering under his breath so that even the other elves couldn't hear, the breeze quickly halted in its path and made its way toward them. The terrible stench of Urgal filled their nostrils._

_Glenwing called out through telepathy, **Ambush!**_

_****_**I hope I did Arya alright! You will hear about the attack on the elves next!**

**Review Question: Did you like how I made Glenwing and Fäolin?**

**Dragon Out!**


	4. Streaking Scarlet

**Hey, finally got this done! Thank you to all who reviewed!**_  
_

**Now, here is Streaking Scarlet...**

_Realizing the danger, the three elves burst from the foliage and had their trusted steeds gallop as fast as they could away from their previous position. They could hear the Urgals grunt with disgust as they too leapt after their pray. The smell of them was enough to make Arya's eyes water._

_Twigs snapped beneath the beautiful horses' hooves and branches whipped in front of the faces of the Fair Folk. The wooden shafts shifted as the irritated muttering of Glenwing moved them. The elven ambassador let her thanks slip into his mind. She didn't even glance behind her to know that he nodded._

_Hearing the shouting behind her, she let her guard slip just a tiny bit. That split second would haunt her for the rest of her life._

_She heard the arrow before she saw it. It whizzed past her cheek, making a low whistle like one of Glenwing's songbirds. But then it hit Fäolin's horse, making it rear upward in fear and pain. Its white mane streaked scarlet stripes. A second bolt caught the poor animal in the heart. Arya made eye contact with the beast and saw death marking the back of the horse's pupils. Then it fell to the forest floor, dead and limp. _

_Fäolin bowed his head to his steed in silent respect and mourning. Then he started to run. His feet barely even touched the grass. It was like watching the grace and beauty of a deer bound across the woods. _

_The Urgals' grunts and growls echoed and bounced from the trees as if the oaks themselves were chanting. Arya willed her horse to increase its speed. The horse seemed to understand and slightly, ever so slightly, bobbed its head in compliance. The big heaves of her steed grew in number and intensity, but the patter of hooves upon the leaves was louder than Arya had hoped._

_And things quickly turned from bad to worse. For soon, more bolts were fired from Urgal crossbows. That ended up changing destiny. _

_Fäolin was clipped on the shoulder, and then Glenwing's horse was shot into the base of its neck. Soon the second steed had fallen and died. Glenwing attempted to run, but his foot had caught on the stirrup of the saddle. Desperate and frantic, the young male elf slashed his weapon across the hard leather and it snapped like kindling. Unfortunately, the Urgals had run at full speed to stop their targets. They surrounded Glenwing and their bows soon shot arrow upon arrow. The male elf used his speed to quickly maneuver the ongoing assault, but then a bolt caught him across the neck. _

_Crying out like a starling caught by a cat, Glenwing fell, lying on the forest floor. Blood spew from the wound, while the elf seemed to become paler and paler by each passing moment. But calmly, he relayed his last words to both of his elven friends watching with horror plain in their eyes._

**_You are the best friends I've ever met. May Galbatorix die by your hand. And may I be remembered…_**

_Then the head Urgal sent a crude sword straight through his heart._

_Both elves uttered a cry that sounded both enraged, but grieved as well. Glenwing had been one of the first elves to fall since the Riders. It was disgraceful to die like this.  
Fäolin felt him as a brother, which was a bond not commonly found among the race of elves. Fäolin drew his swan feathered arrows and immediately started firing among the troop of Urgals._

_They fell quickly. First it was one ram, then four, and then finally ten. But there were still four left and they charged. Arya leapt from her horse and shouted one of the words of death. All four fell without even a moment's hesitation. _

_Even as the two were about to take their companion's body, a different enemy strode forth. The stranger's eyes gleamed like red wine, while his hair looked like it was made out of frozen strips of blood. His skin was as pale as a man who had never spent a moment in the sun. A long, yet deadly sword was strapped across his belt._

_Although Arya hated to admit it to herself, she knew that she would probably die, as well as Fäolin. For this was a creature of darkness that no one could control. Here, standing before her, was Durza the Shade._

_She had remembered him because Ajihad, the leader of the rebellion, had fought him once. He had been a great fighter, but only managed to put a long scratch in the metal of Durza's sword and dispatch the unearthly being._

_But here he was, standing in front of two elves, probably going to kill them. However, he just looked to the side to see his ambush lying dead, their eyes glazing over. He nudged a ram's head, as if to prove if they were really gone. The Shade looked up, his eyes full of humor and cruelty._

_"Pity. These beasts had no mind to remember that elves can't be killed so easily. Except that one over there." Durza gestured his hand over to Glenwing's body, "Is he even an elf? To be defeated so easily is shameful, even for a foolhardy race such as you."_

_Uncontrollable rage went through Fäolin's mind; he uttered a roar that matched a dragon's. The elf had drawn his yew bow once more and cocked two arrows at once. He fired without hesitation. The male elf then reached for his sword. _

_Arya realized what the elf was going to do. Trying her hardest, she tried to warn him that Durza was trying to separate him. But his mind was blocked by a wall with the strength of brightsteel._

_He lunged for the Shade and started hitting him with all of his elven strength. But the fight didn't last long, as Fäolin was blinded by his hatred. Durza flicked the elf aside like he was an unwanted cobweb. Then he drew his sword and plunged it into Fäolin's chest._

_Arya felt tears rise up to her eyes, both of hatred and despair. She normally released her emotions before they gained depth, but it couldn't be helped. The Shade walked over to her while pulling his long sword out of the body of her dear friend._

_He spoke in a tone that matched a tyrant's "You know what I came to retrieve, elf princess."_

_"And I'm here to tell you, that there is no way in Alagaësia you are going to get the egg." Arya snapped, while holding the said egg in her bag. She promised to Glenwing and Fäolin that she would do this in case they died._

_With realization springing to his eyes, the Shade leapt forward as the elf raised the blue stone into the air and shouted in the Language of Power. With a burst of green light, the dragon egg disappeared. _

_Arya slumped to the ground, all strength abandoning her. Snarling like a Shrrg, Durza raised the elf so that her feet barely even touched the grass. _

_"WHERE DID YOU SEND IT?!" the Shade yelled._

_Arya grinned, then shook her head no, as words somehow could not escape her lips. Durza threw the elven ambassador to the ground, while lifting up his sword to stab her through the heart._

_But instead, a blade was produced from the Shade's chest. With him turning around, he saw a man in a long, woolen cloak and a woman. Hatred seared across the man's face, as he twisted the blade in Durza's chest._

_With an unearthly howl, the Shade dissipated into thin air. But the man knew that he wasn't dead, it was just a fingers width from his heart. The woman went over to Arya and sat her beside a tree._

_"Where do you think the dragon egg was sent?" she asked as she put her arm around the cloaked figure._

_"I have no idea, but let us hope that it is wherever **he** is." _

_With that, the couple did something they hadn't done in years. They wept for their lost son…_

**Hope this was a good chapter! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!**

**Review Question: Who do you think saved Arya?**

**Dragon Out! **


	5. Brom's Troubled Past

**Hey guys! Sorry I haven't updated in a while, both busy schedule and writers' block...**

**Thank you to midnight1234 for forcing me to update!**

**Also, a big thank you to all you reviewers out there!**

Angela sighed as she held the fingers of the unconscious elven princess. She knew who it was when her eye first caught sight of the Yawë tattoo on her shoulder. The queen of the elves never pleased her. Islanzadí was as arrogant as she was cold, which was saying something. But her daughter was completely different.

Arya had seen the world with as much fairness as she could muster. She was definitely her father's daughter. The elves would be frantic without their beloved Princess.

But unfortunately, the herbalist had no idea how to treat this. Normally with people collapsed with exhaustion, she would quickly brew up a toads- wait frogs- stool and mountain mushroom mash. It quickly works, and with ease. But it wasn't like anything else she had seen.

Sighing, Angela left ambassador alone, so she can comfort her old friend.

Brom sat alone by another great oak, wiping the edge of his sword into the green grass. He then left the weapon stuck in the ground and held his aging face with one hand, while its opposite was clenched in anger, or maybe it was mourning.

Angela had known Brom for his entire life. So his son was like her own. She knew that losing his firstborn son was like losing his dragon all over again. Except the angel of death did not whisk small Eragon into its embrace. Fate always was a little cruel in the old man's family.

_Saphira had always kept Brom company, as Urgals killed Holcomb and Nelda, his parents, a few years after he was made a Rider. Then Saphira was killed. Brom nearly killed himself; grief tore through him like a savage Ra'zac._

_When Selena came to be in his life, it seemed like the world was born anew. When the Black Hand finally escaped Morzan's clutches, they were on their way to Selena's brother Garrow when she came into labor with Eragon. She cried out in torment as the throws of labor had her spasm in pain. Blood was all around her and the stench quickly filled her nose, but as quickly as it started, it was over. A little boy was held in his father's arms, not crying out like normal infants do, but sleeping peacefully. His rosy cheeks were warm and soft, his face and body pudgy with baby fat. A stray piece of fabric from Selena's dress substituted as a blanket. A single tear fell from the eyes of the older man, of mixed happiness and grief. **Saphira would've loved him.**_

_The sound of dirt moving made Brom turn and see his betrothed weakly smiling and trying to stand. Immediately he made his way over to settle her back down. Annoyed, the powerful magician waved off the man's concerns. She grasped a cool boulder lying near the bloody place; she pulled herself to her feet. She was as unsteady as a newborn foal._

_Selena mumbled to herself, "Garrow was less stubborn than you are, you old mule…"_

_"Stubborn I may be, but never will you catch me stumbling around like an animal on ice." Brom laughed, while Selena was thinking some very dirty things that a lady should not._

_But after a while, there was silence, which the Lady broke by whispering, "Eragon."_

_"What?" the man asked while holding his son close. Selena didn't even wobble as she walked over to her husband and gripped his strong arm, gazing at her son._

_"I think we should name him Eragon," she smiled, as she let her head rest on her husband's shoulder. Smiling, Brom nodded once, and repeated the name, "Eragon."_

_The child woke from its nap and looked at his parents. His brown eyes were happy as he heard his name called out. He thrust out his tiny hands and giggled. Hugging Eragon close to his body, Brom felt whole for the first time since Saphira was killed. But unfortunately, fate is never kind to his family._

_A twig snapped nearby, grabbing the attention of the family. Brom calmly, but reluctantly gave Eragon back to his mother and drew the short sword he bought to replace Undbitr, his original Rider sword._

_Preparing to strike at the bushes just next to the large boulder, the former Rider shouted, "Show yourself, else you be sliced to ribbons by Brom the Wanderer!"_

_A cruel chuckling seemed to come from both everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The voice made the veins of Selena turn to ice as she recalled when she had heard the source of it before. __Fearful for her beloved and son's life, she ran up to Brom and tried to pull him back, all the while clutching her baby to her chest. __He never budged, he kept his ground. He gently told his beloved to stay behind him._

_"Don't you mean Brom the **former** Rider?"_

_Growling, the new father tightened his grip on the cool grip of the blade, while once again hissing, "Show yourself!" _

_Rustling of the bushes directly in front of them signified the presence of another person. Instinctively putting an arm between the newcomer and his family, Brom prepared for the worst._

_A man walked out. He showed the same physical age as the former Rider, but had a sort of nobility in his features. His eyes were cruel, but also observant. Now the father knew why his wife was trying to retreat into the distant woods. The king was here, in person. Galbatorix was probably going to kill them._

_His smirk showed no humor, but in victory. Galbatorix laid his gaze upon Selena and his smirk turned into a feral frown._

_"You've come a long way, Black Hand. Isn't your mission complete yet?" the lines upon the king's forehead creased as if in deep thinking. But the former lover of Morzan knew that he was furious._

_Selena was unafraid, for she was protecting her little Eragon. She stood beside Brom, instead of behind his protective arm. __Her baby was still snuggled in one arm, while the other was held out to the king as she tried to think of spells that might slip behind his wards._

_To keep him occupied for a moment more, Selena answered his rhetorical question with obvious loathing in her voice. "I've been finished a long while ago, now there is only one liability left to take care of."_

_Smiling dangerously, and before the magician and the Rider knew what was happening; Galbatorix shouted a word in the Ancient Language. They froze in place, unable to move. Little Eragon cried as he no longer felt the warmth of his parents, he only felt cold._

_The king whipped around to see the baby in the blanket. His eyes seemed to be contemplating, but what Selena feared the most is that the madman would hurt her and Brom's child. _

_Instead of harming the boy, Galbatorix did something that shattered the new parents._

_He grabbed Eragon from his mother's arms. __The boy must've known something was wrong, as he started to thrash and kick the king, wailing and screaming. But Galbatorix was prepared, as he whispered "Slytha…"_

_The baby seemed to shiver for an instant, and then his eyelids drooped and he fell asleep. Brom yelled from the inside, his hatred searing in his eyes. The king saw this and took a chance to break the former Rider._

_"You never were good at protecting those who mean so much to you."_

_"And you," the Mad King directed his attention to woman, "I will take this to compensate for your betrayal of the Empire. And as you know, we don't take kindly to traitors…"_

_Looking at the sleeping newborn, he spoke loud enough for the parents to hear. "I'm glad that Murtagh will have a companion back in Uru'baen."_

_Then the king left. Once he was far away, he released the spell holding the two in place. Selena started to scream and tried to run after the king, but she turned around and saw her husband kneeling on the dusty ground, tears leaking from behind his eyes. _

_"I've doomed him!" Brom cried out in pure agony. "I've condemned my son to death with a monster!"_

**Hope this was good to describe the kidnapping! And also, were you surprised that it was Angela?**

**Review Question: Do you want next chapter to start Eragon's escape?**

**Dragon Out!**


	6. Forgotten Words and Brotherly Hate

**Sorry for the long wait guys! **

**Thank you to all who reviewed!**

**Here is the next chapter!**

Coughing and sputtering to clear his windpipes from blood, the fifteen year old groaned. The sheets of his cot were stained with the red liquid dripping from his mouth. The taste of it was terrible, revolting. But the smell made him want to wrench.

Blood's scent was always recognizable to him, sharp and metallic. Like the sword used to cut him open. Shaking his head furiously, Eragon cleared his mind from such thoughts. Those only caused him grief.

Clenching his fists, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. His side reacted with a ferocity Eragon had come to expect. The intensity suggested that at least three ribs were broken, which explained where the blood had come from.

Closing his eyes in apparent meditation, Eragon exhaled deeply. Again, the left side of his chest burned with pain, but now the fifteen year old magician knew the location of the fractured bones.

Tentatively, he put his hand to his side and muttered under his breath, "Waíse heil"

An itching feeling came into his chest and it took much discipline to control the urge to scratch. But then the euphoria of eradicated pain took over and he uttered a blissful sigh. Eragon lay back on the bloody sheets and stared upon the ceiling. Words were carved into the expensive paint that layered the walls. His brow furrowed in puzzlement, his nose scrunched up in irritation. The letters seemed familiar enough, if not faintly. It was as if something was trying to block the knowledge from Eragon's mind.

"Muna austrvegr avka?" the injured teen repeated with curiosity. The words rolled off his tongue effortlessly, and without mistake. Then, their spell began to weave in and out like stitches on fabric.

Eragon clutched at his skull with fevered intensity, pain radiating from the shadowy corners of his mind. It pounded as if it were a tune to the beat of a drum. Each pulse brought out agony. Mustering all the strength he had left, the teen managed not to scream.

Then, all of a sudden, it stopped.

A feeling of release, like a key unlocking a chamber door, went through his head. Eragon remembered everything that he had made himself forget, for the words scratched into the ceiling meant remember the lost in the ancient language.

His lips curved upward into a smirk, for now the second part of his plan to be free was coming to light.

"Why are you so happy? We're in Angvard's halls preparing to suffer living hell."

Eragon didn't even have to turn around to know that it was his half brother eighteen year old was tall for his age, with brawn and brains to match. But scars covered him like a blanket, like they did with Eragon. Yet the latter had endured more since he's Galbatorix's son.

"Can't you learn how to knock?" the fifteen year old retorted. He didn't want to deal with his half brother now, since he can now escape without regrets.

"Can't you learn that I don't care?" Murtagh slumped into a chair by the door, raising an eyebrow at his brother's insistence that he should leave. But Eragon would not explain himself, he shouldn't have to.

Murtagh happened to look at the precise spot where the letters were scrawled upon the ceiling; witch caused his eyes to narrow to the size of pinpricks. He never had approved of his younger brother risking his life to escape his personal tortures.

Murtagh had tried many a time to escape on his own, he once even made it to the outskirts of Uru'baen with his sword master Tornac. But then the soldiers caught up to them. Murtagh had smuggled a sword from a blacksmith earlier, which he used to kill off at least half of the wretched thugs of the dictator king. Unfortunately, a stray bolt caught Tornac across his chest.

The sword master and Eragon's half brother were as close as they both can be. So as soon as the man had seen his father figure fall, he threw down the crude sword and stayed by his side until death finally claimed Tornac.

Ever since, Murtagh had never tried again, but looked down upon his little sibling every time he the eyes of Morzan's son, escape is only a game Galbatorix plays with his captives, making them believe that their freedom is secure, and only then does the Mad King reclaim his prize. It always breaks a man's spirit. Unbeknownst to Eragon, this is why Murtagh hated his running away. Eragon only had a matter of time before Galbatorix starts to break him.

Murtagh happened to look at the precise spot where the letters were scrawled upon the ceiling; witch caused his eyes to narrow to the size of pinpricks. He never had approved of his younger brother risking his life to escape his personal tortures.

"Don't tell me that you are still thinking of escaping, are you?" Murtagh had a cold look in his eye, the same cold glare he's been giving anyone who sides with the Mad King. Eragon shifts uncomfortably, but he was not about to be swayed by this fool of a half older teen had no idea how complex and strategic this plan was. And how dangerous, but Eragon never focused on that.

_Speak in this way. I do not want my plans I have spent months plotting to go to turn into smoke in the wind. _Eragon had secretly mastered the art of safeguarding his mind and putting out his thoughts. Murtagh knew how to keep his mind a labyrinth from all who enter, but the son of Brom knows that Murtagh can hear him.

Galbatorix would've burned him alive with Shruikan if he had found out about his heir's studies of mental protection. But that was the best part about having magic. The Mad King would never know.

_Your attempt had already failed; do you not see the damage that was wrought to you the last time this very afternoon?_ Murtagh motioned his eyes over to the blood soaked sheets that were underneath his half brother. But that made Eragon smile a predator's grin, and all at once, the eighteen year old finally realized the full extent of the son of Brom's plans.

_You've not finished with this attempt, aren't you? _

To indicate the correct answer, the brown eyed fifteen year old gave a quick wink and grin before his face melded into a much more stern and serious glare. He wanted to tell Murtagh one more ting.

_I'll never be done trying to escape from here. That is a hope I will not let go._

**Hope this was a good ending to the chapter!**

**Review Question: What do you expect the next chapter to have?**

**Dragon Out!**


	7. Escape and Finding

**Finally finished! I hope you guys will like this chapter! Thank you to all you reviewers!**

**Presenting...**

**Escape and Finding!**

Eragon winced at the amount of noise his half brother was making. Ever since the siblings had fled using a secret passageway that led under the throne room, there was nothing but noise coming from Morzan's son. Especially when the secret escape cut through to the tiled floor just beyond the king's sanctuary. It was pure luck that Galbatorix never did use magic unless he was sure that something had come up.

Each stomp Murtagh was making increased the odds against their favor. To say it shortly, the fifteen year old knew that his sibling was causing this on purpose. And Eragon again cursed himself for the thousandth time for letting Murtagh come. _You fool! My agent only thought I was coming, not me and a blundering elephant!_

Grinding his teeth, the mastermind of the plan to escape came to an abrupt halt. Murtagh just stopped in time to crash into him from behind. For some reason, it irked Eragon much more than his idiotic brother stomping up a storm.

"Are you trying to get us caught?!" Eragon's voice an angered whisper, yet it seemed loud enough in the endless echoing hallways to get them noticed.

"I'm not doing anything Brother." Murtagh tiredly gazed around the corridor as if he were bored with this attempt to escape. And to say that it angered his half brother was a complete understatement. How _dare _he?! Freedom was but a tantalizing fantasy to many people under the king's iron fisted rule! But here was his brother, thinking that this was nothing but an errand to annoy him? That was as insulting it is to Eragon as to have called the Mad King a coward. The brown eyed teen felt the rage rise into his hands before his head, as his knuckles acted before his mind. The connection between Murtagh's nose and Eragon's hand was instantaneous. A muffled grunt of surprise was heard for a fraction of a second before the form of Morzan's son crashed onto the elegant tile, blood dripping from his nostrils.

But even as Murtagh tried to sit up so he could retaliate, Eragon heard the tapping of metal boots down the hallway, close to the bedroom that the latter possessed. The fear of detection mingled with the stupidity of his compulsive action made him strain his ears to listen for a sound, something to decide whether or not that something was amiss. He dare not use magic in case the intruder was a magician, they would sense the spell in a heartbeat.

The glare that Murtagh sent to Eragon was one that could kill faster than the Words of Death. But before his older sibling could start uttering a string of terrible curses, Eragon clasped one hand over his mouth and the other across his chest to keep Murtagh's heavy clothing to graze across the floor, creating a sound. To give his brother the signal that danger was near, the brunette pulled one arm away to put two fingers to the tip of his nose, and then he blinked twice. Their silent language for the presence of another person. Wordlessly, Murtagh nodded and started to turn his stare away from the heir of Galbatorix. Inside of his mind, Eragon praised whatever god had been looking after him. He had always feared that stare from Murtagh, it reminded him too much of the story of his half brother's father.

The sound of footsteps coming ever so closer drew the escapees out of their thoughts. The heartbeat of the heir of Galbatorix pounded in sync with each clank of metal boot on flooring.

_Clank. Thud. Clank. Thud._

Eragon's hands shook with much more force than he thought about. The burning feeling on the back of his neck escalated to an all out inferno. Perspiration gathered in his palms.

Not wanting to endure the waiting any longer, Murtagh grasped his younger sibling's shoulder and tried to turn him around to run. But the brunette was frozen, unable to comprehend what was going on around him. Murtagh just started to shove Eragon along, until finally the latter's legs started to keep up.

The hated clinking faded to silence behind them, but still the brothers did not stop for even a moment. Their argument receded to the back of their thoughts, and all they wanted now was to leave this evil place.

Too long had they been down in the dark shadows of the king's madness, yearning for their chance to see the light. Now here they were, after so many years, finally letting themselves have the one thing they could never have. Freedom.

And they weren't about to lose it now.

A door crept into their field of vision. It was lavish, beautifully carved by master craftsmen. Two dragons lay on the wood, where each scale and every wisp of fire was perfected. But the two never had seen this part of the castle, or this entrancing door. Not even in conversation. Why would this place be any different from any other rooms?

But then, there was a sudden yelling from down the hallway. Soldiers. It had to be. Eragon heard their metal boots scraping the floor as the tried to run with their heavy armor. Having no where else to turn or hide, he grabbed Murtagh and burst into the room behind the dragon door, just barely stepping over the threshold as the guards filed down the corridor.

Thousands upon thousands of voices roared inside of their minds. Eragon threw barrier upon mental barrier to block out the torrent of sounds. But the sheer power of the assaults of his mind already brought him to his knees. Murtagh lay beside his sibling, the walls around his mind cracking with each attack.

But it was the soldiers out front who were going through the worst. They put their hands over their ears and would not stop crying out in pain. Eventually, two of them regained their wits and started to shove the wooden doors shut. And with each inch they moved it, the more intensified the attacks on the escapees' minds became. Until the door was closed and locked from the outside.

Stranger still, the voices of the attacks retreated to wherever they had come from. It must have been the soldiers they were aiming for! Not them! Risking detection, Eragon muttered under his breath.

"Brisingr."

Immediately, the entire room was alight from that small fire from the floor.

Murtagh grimaced from the headache he had when he collapsed on the ground, so he held his head in his hands as he made his way to his feet. But soon he realized that his younger sibling wasn't moving from the spot where he stood. Rolling his eyes, the son of Morzan went over to see what Eragon had gotten into now.

Then Murtagh froze in his tracks.

The numerous shelves scattered all over the giant room were filled with thousands of gem-like structures, all different colors and sizes. But that was not what the heir of Galbatorix was gazing at.

It was the stones that lay in the middle, one as red as the blood that ran through his veins, the other as green as the forest floor.

**Hope this chapter is one to satisfy! Please review! I want to hear if you guys think this is good! And before I go, can you guys read my friend, midnight1234's story Child Again? It's a really funny/ cute story!**

**Review Question: What do you think Murtagh and Eragon will do now that they found the Eldunari and the last two dragon eggs?**

**Dragon Out!**


	8. Dragon Eggs and Escapades

**Hey guys! Finally finished! **

**Thank you to all who reviewed!**

Eragon felt his breath catch as he laid his eyes upon the dragon eggs. They were so beautiful, like enchanting works of art to be cherished throughout time. It seemed like they were just gemstones, not the last two eggs of dragons beside the blue one that was stolen before Eragon was born.

But the escapee never came any closer than a few feet from the stone-like objects. He wasn't afraid of _them. _He was afraid because he had a slight chance to become a Rider.

_Eragon had met the Mad King's dragon Shruikan only twice, once by accident while he was wandering about the castle, the other when Galbatorix wanted Eragon to see his stolen dragon._

_Shruikan was as large as a building, by much. The stories about his size were quite true. The blackness of his scales may also represent the color of the king's soul, like a charred piece of coal. But the mind of the mind of the century old dragon was corrupt, odd, and even mad. Though the only feeling Eragon never thought to expect Shruikan to have was sadness. He was grieved by the death of the Rider he had chosen, not Galbatorix. _

_This sort of thing Shruikan got enraged about when the heir of the Mad King delved too deep into the great dragon's secrets. Shruikan once said that if your partner of your heart dies, life is hardly worth living._

_Eragon couldn't handle being a Rider, as he couldn't imagine himself being too attached to anyone or anything. He liked the fact he had no one. He always hurt those he deeply cared about. And those he thought truly thought the best for him, they betrayed Eragon without a word of notice. That's when the heir to Galbatorix decided to encase his heart in stone. Then no one can hurt him any longer._

"Eragon!"

The said teen held his ears as the shout echoed off the walls. He angrily glanced at Murtagh, the one who had caused the noise. They could have been discovered by that!

"Murtagh!" Eragon harshly whispered across the walls of heart of hearts and dragon eggs. He made sure his voice was low enough that even if a man pressed his ear against the wooden door, he couldn't hear the escapee. "The soldiers could still hear us! Are you daft?"

"I might ask you the same question Stone Ears." Murtagh blinked, his fists clenching at his sides. "I was making sure that no magician invaded your mind or taken it over, then your genius idea would be ruined."

The younger sibling turned away from his half brother. He didn't want to lose his temper _again_ with Murtagh. He was the bigger man, and he would relish the fact until the day he died. _Which,_ Eragon thought darkly, _would be very soon if we don't get a move on._

"Come on! We have to leave now!" Eragon spoke in the same whispered voice, but it was loud enough for it to have a slight echo.

Murtagh had walked over to the side of the boxes containing the eggs. He ran his fingers over the red one's surface. It felt cool under his fingers, like touching marble. He felt a strangely strong pull towards this egg, as if it were meant to be his own. The desire to take it with him was overwhelming.

Murtagh saw several horse bags hanging over the side of the right wall, and he walked over to it. Taking tentative precaution, Murtagh picked up the red egg and put it inside a single bag he picked up. Then he started to pack up some of the gem-shaped objects.

"Murtagh!"

With his name spoken, the elder sibling turned to see Eragon, standing paralyzed. But what surprised Murtagh the most was the fear behind Eragon's eyes. Eragon was never _fearful_ of anything. Not even the Mad King.

"We have to get at least some of these things out of this place. Why do you think that he would keep these things under lock and key?"

"We can't steal anything! We'll be caught faster than if we didn't!"

"If you don't start taking some of this stuff, I will scream as loud as I can and the guards will swarm around here like moths to a flame." Murtagh picked up a long hand and a half sword, with an intact scabbard. The color of it was a fusty gold, like a sunset. He buckled it to his waist and once again turned to his brother.

The small trace of fear in his eyes was gone. All that was left was defeat and helplessness, something that was partly masked by the rage on Eragon's face. Partly.

Finally, after a few long moments had passed, the younger sibling sighed and he grabbed another saddle bag. He stuffed it to the brim, filling it with the gems. The only thing he would not touch was the green dragon egg.

At last he saw the swords. There were many in the Mad King's personal collection, all different shapes, styles, and lengths. Each one was for a different Rider. Even Eragon, who he himself didn't know anything about the Riders of old, knew that these swords belonged to the ancient protectors of Alagaësia.

He saw one sheath that was a sleek black, the color of midnight. He picked it up gently, and unsheathed the sword within. The color of the blade matched the scabbard, but the sword glimmered. It shinned as if it were made of stars.

He thrust it in the air, deciding if it was suited to his fighting style. The weapon felt like a deadly extension of his arm. He strapped the beautiful blade to his belt, and saw a second one.

This weapon was a light aquamarine, like the sky on a warm summer day. It too matched his style, and it was as beautiful as the first one. Eragon had only dual wielded swords a few times, and never in real combat. But there were always warriors who perfected the art of using two swords, and they were deadly.

Eragon buckled the blue sword to his waist. He was about to finish packing the bags when Murtagh hissed at him.

"Get the other dragon egg!"

"Why can't you? I don't want to touch that thing." Eragon knew that he sounded childish, but he didn't want to get a chance to be a Rider. He didn't want to be judged as Galbatorix's heir.

"Well, that _thing_ can turn this war around! I'll pack it then, you spineless weakling." Murtagh then shoved the green orb inside the pack, which made the younger sibling sigh inwardly.

A blaring shriek suddenly started to erupt from the center of the room, like the screech of a wild animal. _Galbatorix…_ Eragon silently cursed him and all of his family. _He must've put a spell on the room so that if anyone tries to take anything, he'll be warned! I should've known that!_

Eragon looked at Murtagh, who was looking at the former with round eyes. Not caring if he was heard by the alarm, Eragon shouted at the top of his lungs.

"RUN!"

**I hope this was a good way to leave a cliffie:) **

**Before I go, can I ask to see if someone out there can draw Eragon with his twin swords? cause I think he would look so epic with that! Don't you agree?**

**Review Question: Whose swords do you think Eragon took?**

**Dragon Out!**


	9. The Past Behind, The Future Ahead

**Hi! Before I release you to the chapter, I want to thank all who reviewed! Also, THANK YOU TO RUE BLADESINGER FOR DRAWING ERAGON DUAL WIELDING! YOU ARE EPICALLY AMAZING!**

**Happy Earth Day! **

**Evatross: I would love you to beta! PM me on details!**

**And presenting... Chapter 9!**

_Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud…_

Murtagh's heart beat a million times as he ran for his freedom. He clutched his saddle bag with renewed vigor. They weren't easy to carry. The gems and eggs were as heavy as steel. Especially with some of the dragons lashing out with every step he took. Sweat pooled down his back as he strained against the mental attacks.

Eragon wasn't faring any better. His muscles throbbed and ached as each foot pounded against the cool marble floor. But still he ran on as if all of hell were after him. Freedom was still trapped on the other side of Galbatorix's castle doors, and Eragon was going to set it loose for himself and his older brother.

The guards swarmed behind them like insects, all running and shouting in a jumbled mess. No orders rang out, no general to command them, the soldiers were all lost. It almost made the escapees whoop for joy. But there was no time for that; there was still the issue of opening the door.

Gathering speed quickly, Murtagh saw the giant entrance to the castle. The wooden scaffolds stood tall and proud. The doors were swirling tendrils of black and purple, forming two dragon-like shapes. But it seemed to be seemed with spells. Alarms? Traps? Murtagh couldn't tell.

Eragon apparently could. He was muttering quick phrases under his breath, probably to counteract Galbatorix's. The saddle bag that he was clutching onto rattled with each word he uttered.

There were two great roars echoing into the Main Corridor. It seemed to emanate from the giant doors. The shadowy dragons withered away like ash from a long ago fire.

The guards stood in curious amazement, not moving an inch from where they stood. Using the moment, the heir of Galbatorix threw his two swords at the chains barring them from the outside world. They shattered once the weapons touched them.

The doors opened, showering the two brothers in a stream of blinding sunlight. Murtagh shielded his eyes behind the crook of his elbow.

But Eragon would not miss it; he stretched his arms out as if to embrace a dear friend. The warmth of the day slowly seeped into the room, almost as if it were tentative to enter this forsaken castle.

But the light seemed to release the soldiers from their silent trance. They rushed forward, their spears and swords aimed to injure, but not kill. Well, Eragon would rather die at the hands of a pathetic worm than spend another moment in "the most honorable" King Galbatorix's castle.

He looked at Murtagh, who was having trouble unsheathing his sword from his belt. The younger sibling ran over to him and he hastily spoke,

"Go get the horses! They can't catch us if they're on foot!"

Nodding, Morzan's son switched directions, toward the stables that kept the Captain's steeds away from prying eyes. Meanwhile, Eragon rushed forward to the front gate, knowing fully well he would be captured if his older brother did not get to the horses in time. But it was the only shot they had, even if it was a small one.

The tromping of metal boots continued, while Eragon desperately tried to get his two swords out of the door. They were stuck in the inner mechanisms of the lock, and whenever he tried to loosen his weapons, it just got them even more ensnared. It almost made the young escapee roar in both rage and stupidity.

He, Eragon the Son of None, had gotten stuck between a rock and a hard place. Completely exposed and weaponless, Eragon's weapon master would've _tut tutted _in disappointment. But

He turned against the door, facing the soldiers by looking them in the eye. It was the number one rule of swordplay. Don't keep your back turned on the enemy. Thankfully, that's one thing the swords master got through his thick skull. But for the first time, it was unsettling for the soldiers to see the "prince" surrounded. Their liege lord's son never before resisted coming back.

It just made their Commander spit with rage.

"You piece of filth! How dare you try this _again!_" Vándr put much stress on the word, as if the very thought of it made bile ride into the back of his throat.

"I thought you realize that I'll not quit until I've gained my freedom, something you've never heard of, Little Lapdog."

"Very poetic, you insignificant ingrate! But I'm not going to let His Majesty be plagued with you any longer!" Vándr had a look of murder in his eyes, like when a bull sees red.

_Murtagh, I swear if you don't bring those horses in the next five seconds, I'll throttle you from beyond the grave._

Vándr charged with a battle cry, his curved sword extending towards Eragon's neck like the claw of an otherworldly demon, coming to take him away to the depths of the devilish world.

His hand trembling from unintentional fear, the young escapee reached behind himself and began to shake the hilt of the closest sword with as much strength as he could muster. Adrenaline spiked in his veins. A cold sweat broke out across his brow, and his breathing became as harsh as a sick man's last breath.

But before he dies, he wanted to take one last look at the sky, the puffy white clouds and the intense, beautiful sun. Satisfied, he looked at the guards' Captain with a proud expression on his face.

He may not yet be a man in the eyes of his people, but at least he would end like one.

But instead, he found Murtagh grinning ear to ear on top of a mottled gray steed, while holding the reins of another midnight horse.

"Great ending by the way."

"Oh shut up," in contrast, Eragon was glad Murtagh was here, but was not about to let him know it.

"You need to work on your timing, it was a bit off."

Giving a wink, Murtagh had his stallion rear up on its hind legs, and when they came back down the doors finally spewed open.

The blue and black swords had run their way all the way through the metal gears of the lock, being released onto the sandy ground just outside the threshold. Putting on a burst of speed, Eragon quickly swiped the swords into his hands and put them back into their scabbards strung to his side.

He made his way over to Murtagh, and swung his leg over the black stallion. He grasped the bridle with one hand while he strapped in the saddlebags. But he still kicked the sides of the animal gently to urge it forward.

Instead it leaped into the brush like a mountain lion. Galloping at top speed, Murtagh soon caught up with Eragon, their backs to the Empire and out into the realm of Alagaësia.

_The servant was terrified, knowing fully well that the king could kill him just by delivering this message. He's done far worse for batting an eye in his direction._

_Taking a deep breath, the slave pushed himself into the Throne Room before his courage waned. __The king sat contently on his throne, his fingers dancing upon the armrest in some sort of melody. There were no signs to signal what he was feeling._

_"My King, Galbatorix…"_

_"Get on with it," annoyed, the servant thought. That must be his feelings._

_"Prince Eragon has… escaped from home." _

_Reflexively, the slave threw his hands up to block a strike upon his body. But nothing landed. Curious, the servant strained to hear what the king was mumbling._

_All he could catch were the words, "And so the child flees his family…"_

**And so they escaped the clutches of the Mad King! PS: Before I go, I will tell you one of you guessed correctly on who owned the swords first, but I'm not telling who:)**

**Review Question: What do you think Galbatorix will do to the servant?**

**Earth Dragon Out!**


	10. Two Eggs in One Day

**I'm so sorry I haven't been updating! But I'll make up for it I promise!**

**Thank you to all who reviewed last chapter!**

"_Brisingr." _

Eragon spoke in a hushed whisper, so not even a mouse could hear him summoning fire using the Ancient Language. The sparks cackled like a predator, jumping from twig to twig in a maddened frenzy. Light suddenly made itself known in the dark night, emanating a soft, candle lit glow. It felt reassuring to him to finally have the light on his side for once.

Murtagh lay directly across from Eragon, rolled up in some of the blankets he stole from the treasure room. Next to his makeshift bed were his soggy, bottomless boots. During the flee from the castle, Murtagh had fallen into a creek bed when his horse threw him off. The son of Morzan didn't complain until the two stopped for the night.

Now the only enemy besides Galbatorix that Eragon feared was sickness, because Murtagh had run a high fever. Tearing through his saddlebags as quietly as he could, the escapee looked desperately for medicine to cure his brother.

There was none to be found. Eragon swore as he threw another stick into the flames, sending up another new batch of smoke. Gritting his teeth, he held his hands to the fire to warm them. But after a while he just stared at the fire, watching it writhe every few moments.

_Tap… Tap-crack…_

He dare not move. His eyes bounced from bush to bush to search for the faintest sign of movement. That was when a shuffle from one of the saddlebags grabbed his focus.

The cautious teen wordlessly drew his two weapons from his belt. They gleamed in delight in response to the firelight. Taking tentative steps forward, Eragon poked Murtagh's bags with the tip of the black sword.

A squeak answered him, tiny and weak. It made Eragon roll his eyes in exasperation. _Only a mouse,_ he thought to himself.

The escapee was about to turn back to face the flames, until the head popped out of the pockets.

The animal's skull was angular, unlike everything else Eragon had ever seen. Blood red scales glittered as light danced upon them. Tiny horns curved upwards like a goat's.

Shocked and aghast, the teen stepped back tripping over the extra firewood he had gathered earlier. He fell right next to the newborn creature. Eragon shakily drew his swords, knowing this was a dragon looking for its Rider. And he didn't plan to be one like Galbatorix.

"Stay back! Stay away, lizard breath!" the escapee swore, waving the black blade towards the blood-red dragon. But the animal didn't back away; it came right up to the weapon and sniffed it like it was a delicious treat.

But after smelling the metal weapon, the dragon came right up to his face. Panic coursing through him, Eragon thrust his hands behind him to make sure not even a finger willingly touches the tiny animal.

But it hissed and slithered away before it even saw the escapee's hands.

Eragon released his breath, relieved it had left him alone. But he had thought too soon as he saw the dragon waddle its merry little way over to his older brother.

At that moment, Murtagh was coughing like a madman. Perspiration glittered on his brow as the heat of the disease took hold on his body. Now his younger brother was determined to chase the horrid creature away. The dragon seemed to make the cold worse.

"Back away, you sniveling cur! Back before I skin ya!" Eragon waved his sword at the dragon once again, before realizing something. Eragon almost laughed as he realized he sounded like one of those crotchety old men lying on the streets without a penny to their name.

But he regained his composure and gave an angry glare to the animal. It didn't give him another glance. That bloody-red head just went up to Murtagh and sniffed at his palms. Then the animal let out a joyful squeak and arched its back up to Murtagh's hand like an old cat. Just as soon as the tip of its spines nicked the top of Murtagh's right hand, a flash erupted before Eragon's eyes.

Yelping unintentionally, the younger teen squinted and hid his eyes behind the crook of his elbow, but even then the light weaseled its way into the boy's lids. He turned his back on the scene, praying it wasn't a beacon to the search parties Galbatorix most likely sent out.

Eventually the brightness dimmed until it was just a faint glimmer in the back of Eragon's eye. He turned around to see Murtagh sitting up and blinking stupidly.

_Man,_ Eragon thought to himself, _he truly is that thick. I thought he was pretending all these years._

But inwardly, Eragon was glad that the fever seemed to have vanished. It might have caused him to bring his older brother to a healer, and eventually back to Uru'baen.

"Eragon? Where the blazes are you?" Murtagh reached forward to pull himself onto his feet, but was surprised to see the little creature sitting on his chest. He stared incoherently at the animal; sure that it was a trick of the light. Murtagh rapidly started to blink. Only then did he realize that the dragon was real.

He opened his mouth to scream, only then did Eragon reveal himself and clasped his hands over Murtagh's mouth. The older sibling then started to frantically glance around with the look of a frightened deer, to then see that it was his brother holding his lips shut.

Angrily, Murtagh shoved Eragon away from him.

Heat from the fire reflected the annoyance that the former felt.

"What did you do?!" Murtagh whispered, gesturing towards the blood colored dragon.

"What did _I _do?" Eragon asked incredulously. His brother really was clueless.

"Murtagh, don't blame me for this. You're the one who touched the egg back in the vault."

"Why didn't you say that if I did I would have a chance to be a Rider?" Murtagh's voice wasn't angry, as the younger sibling had been expecting. The older teen's voice was hopeful, and full of wonder.

"I thought you knew." Eragon shrugged, figuring that Murtagh hasn't learned much of the dragons' history. Murtagh knew more of the world the Mad King had built.

Letting the conversation go, Murtagh only responded with a nod.

The older teen knew that an egg will hatch if its destined Rider came into contact with it. He just believed it would be through a mental link or something of the kind.

The dragon swerved its way back over to Murtagh's face, and curled up next to his ear, blowing a content puff of smoke from its nose. Smiling only slightly, Murtagh rubbed its head with his right palm, which now had a diamond appearing object in the center.

Eragon observed the scene quietly. He knew that a bond with a dragon was precious, but he didn't want to handle something like that until he has developed a true taste for freedom. That bond could be more binding then a promise of True Names.

Wordlessly, he got up and left the pair in the firelight, looking for something to hunt.

Instead, a green light sparkled beyond the trees. Eragon was intrigued. He followed the gleam until he stopped by a mass of trees stripped of their bark, and a smoking object in the center of it.

"Please, oh gods above please tell me that's not what I think it is." Eragon prayed.

But it was.

The missing blue dragon egg was right before him.

**I hope you like the little cliffie! Review please!**

**Review Question: Does Eragon become a Rider?**

**Dragon Out!**


	11. That Fateful Night

**I apologize for not having this out sooner! I was on vacation for three weeks and without a computer! But I'm back!**

**Enjoy the chapter!**

**And for those offended by my portrayal of Murtagh, I am deeply sorry. I didn't mean to butcher him, but he will be better, I swear!**

Eragon had never felt so much fear, so much panic flutter inside his soul, not even when Galbatorix put the scar in the back of his neck. He couldn't breathe nor could he move, lest he seeks to unleash the monstrosity inside the dragon egg. Eragon couldn't even brush past it without that miniscule chance of himself becoming one of the Riders of Old. The thought of being burdened with such a large task was terrifying to him. He'd just got his freedom!

But then the teen turned his thoughts to the already hatched dragon and Murtagh. No doubt that Murtagh was a formidable foe. Or that he wouldn't have escaped as easily if his older brother hadn't been there. But bearing the crushing weight of responsibility of Dragon Riders? Eragon wouldn't wish that upon anyone.

Yet here is Murtagh, bravely accepting and even welcoming the tiny dragon into his heart and mind. Because of that, he has become the First Free Rider since the Fall.

New profound respect for his sibling rose up from Eragon's core. Never again would he think ill will against Murtagh. The younger teen knew that Morzan's son was powerful before. Now he couldn't see the limit of that said power.

But didn't Murtagh say something about how the egg seemed to call to him?

Eragon also felt something different from this egg. The others he loathed, hated, and even wished gone. The sapphire egg in front of him brought out a new feeling. It was not the cold-blooded fear or the fiery rage that he usually felt. No, it was a completely different feeling. This one was pulling him towards the egg, burning his insides if he resisted its call. Eragon fell to his knees, buckling in pain. The beckoning of the egg was tempting, like a starving man to a feast of the kings.

Eragon dug his nails into his palms, drawing blood as he pressed harder into his hands. He had to remain vigilant. Otherwise, all he would've done and worked for was for naught.

He clamped his eyes shut, trying to not lay eyes on the enchanting stone-appearing egg. Hot-white pain shot through his temples. Eragon was trying his hardest not to scream at the invading force probing his mind. It was as if the newborn dragon had rammed a burning iron into his skull.

Eragon's sticky blood seeped through the calluses on his hands and dripped onto the round. The tiny red droplets stuck out like a black sheep in a flock. The chilly spring breeze struck at the back of his neck, right at the scar. It sent goose bumps down from his spine and blossoming around his ribcage.

Without his permission, his eyelids opened a crack, the size of a hair. All Eragon saw was the beautiful blue of that sapphire egg. It made his chestnut eyes open all the way so he could gaze at its marvelous beauty.

He was enchanted by the patterns of white spider-webbing the surface. Oblivious to his previous statements, Eragon gingerly reached his fingertips to the smooth, glassy surface. He didn't know what he was doing, nor why he couldn't stop himself.

**_You idiot! What are you doing? You're risking being a Rider! Becoming closer to Galbatorix by each passing moment!_**

_But I don't care, _Eragon told that inner part of his mind. And to be completely honest with himself, he didn't know why he was.

_I at least need to touch the surface. I'm not the Mad King._

Eragon's palm met with the blue and white patches of the egg. The blood still pulsing slightly from inside his palm, he stained the stone red. But yet he didn't care. Eragon didn't care about anything for the moment.

It was just him and the dragon's egg.

* * *

_The dragon inside had always comforted in the blackness inside of her egg. It had been her home, the only thing she knew for the past century. The dragon had felt the ground shift beneath her, and being carried across the land many a time. Many hands had touched her surface, elf and human alike._

_None had impressed her. All of them had been the same in her dragon mind. None of them possessed the courage to take the life of the Egg-Breaker. Nor the sense of good judgment to be a good Rider. Many were doing this for the recognition, or the glory._

_She hated those most of all._

_The only one close was the elf which carried her across the Elven lands and the free Human lands. Her unwavering determination and unyielding sense of duty to her people was admirable. Yet one thing kept her inside her egg, away from the Outside. _

_There was no immediate bond, no feeling of a close bond. Those reasons made her wait inside her home, to wait for one destined to share her heart and mind._

_Her darkness inside her egg suddenly felt lonely. It was crushing and made her squirm in the blackness. But it was still better than in the Egg-Breaker's clutches. Fear had been in her heart whenever the king had spoken to her and her brethren, cooing in soft words. Never before and never again will she go through the panic of the Egg-Breaker's terror. The elf had kept her safe._

_ She then suddenly felt the elf holding her move the egg and heard her shout words in the Language of Power._

_The magic in those few short sentences sent her through the air. Beyond the elf who had kept her safe, beyond where she had traveled for years. It had frightened her a great deal._

_A mental call; strong, powerful, and comforting was giving her a few soft words. She heard the voice say to her,_

**_Be still, my kin. Your Rider awaits you, dear dragon._**

_Trusting the voice, the little infant dragon felt the magic that held her shift and change directions. It headed towards a forest near the Castle of the Traitor of Dragon kind. _

_Her egg landed in a clearing, away from living things and the trees. She waited, for her Rider must be near. The ancient call had told her so._

_And indeed he was right. A human, not far from manhood, had wandered into her clearing. He saw her egg and instead of trying to touch it immediately, he was afraid of it. _

_The dragon was surprised. He was to be her partner? Her destined Rider?_

_Yet, even when he wasn't touching her egg, she sensed the goodness inside his heart. He had been through pain, torment by the hands of the Egg-Breaker. So had his nest-mate. But his heart was true, and that impressed her._

_She used her untamed magic to beckon him forward, to get him to touch her egg so she can be free. The place that once held so much comfort to her was now a prison._

_At first he had resisted, but then the human had yielded and stroked her surface._

_The little dragon now fought the endless nothingness in front of her, scratching at the surface of her egg with a fevered passion. _

_Her Rider was waiting for her._

**I hope the ending wasn't too bad! I'm sorry if it was!**

**PS: I might be looking for a beta to help me with mistakes in here, so can I ask someone to help me with that?**

**Please R&R!**

**Review Question: Do you like the Saphira's egg part?**

**Dragon Out!**


	12. Red Staining Blue

**Over a 100 reviews! You are amazing, wonderful reviewers! THANK YOU SO MUCH!**

**Anyway, I must thank my brilliant beta Midnight1234! Thank you Midnight-chan!**

**On with the next chapter my friends!**

Murtagh felt his tiny dragon's scales brush up next to his chest and settle down near his stomach. The infant animal let out a content sigh as its Rider put a comforting hand on its angular red head. Smoke trailed from its nostrils, staining the deep midnight colored sky a foggy grey.

But slowly, the wispy tendrils of smoke seemed to change in appearance. They twisted and gained shape, like it was alive. Then the full picture gave Murtagh a look of wonder. It was a dragon, with stars for eyes and the moon for a heart. Surprised, the son of Morzan looked down at his new partner of heart and mind. His own dragon stared back at him, giving eyes of pleading.

All at once, Murtagh realized that the dragon had wanted to impress him. And that the picture in the smoke was to try to get him to admire the animal's strength even at birth. He gave a look of pride, and he brought his dragon close to him. At first, it squeaked indignantly at the touch. But then the dragon's head tilted sideways, gazing at its Rider in a lopsided way. It made Murtagh's heart throb in sadness as he saw the innocence of a child in those ruby eyes.

Galbatorix would've broken this small creature's spirit the moment it had hatched, turning the world a child should live in into a realm of inner hell. The new Rider had sighed in defeat as he remembered Eragon and himself.

Every child should've had a time to believe that the world was full of magic, of wonder, and of never ending beauty. For those in Galbatorix's kingdom, hell is wrought as soon as you are old enough to stand on your own. Children always work as slaves to the upper class citizens. _Their hands are small enough to clean their expensive glasses imported from Surda, _they say, or _the child needs to learn the discipline of working their way into the world._

Murtagh had sneered when he saw this for himself. It wasn't teaching them respect or humility. It was slave drives.

But soon enough, when the Mad King is overthrown and peace restored to Alagaësia, Murtagh will be the first one to set those children free. He vowed it both as a word of a Rider, and to his own soul as well.

His tiny dragon looked up, as if it had heard the silent promise. _Maybe it did,_ Murtagh thought to himself. He had remembered one old story in Galbatorix's great library about how dragons can communicate with their minds. He had forgotten how long it took for the animal to understand what he was saying.

_Was it a month, or was it only two weeks?_ Murtagh asked himself. The minor details always tend to elude him in the time that they are needed. He hated that about himself, but never takes the forgetfulness to seriously. There are many more important things to think about.

A braking of a branch, and then some low cursing startled Murtagh. But he wasn't fearful. He knew it was Eragon, for he had the mouth of a sailor when he cursed. Turning away from the ruby dragon, Murtagh was about to admonish him for going off on his own. For to break important rules of survival was a very stupid mistake indeed.

But that was when he saw what Eragon clutched to his chest.

It was a small object, smooth and sleek from the way it sparkled and danced in the evening firelight. The color was a deep sapphire blue, laced with white patterns and red splotches. The elder of the two knew it to be the last dragon egg. But what he did not know was that it had other colors beside blue and white. He had never seen any egg to be more than one color.

Eragon sat near the blaze, ruefully moving his hands to warm them. Yet he still held the dragon egg close to his chest, apparently to precious to lose. In that moment when Eragon spread his fingers from his palms, Murtagh saw where the scarlet covering the blue egg had come from. His younger brother's hands were caked with dried blood and dirt. The scratches were crescent shaped, but looked like Eragon had scraped his fingernails closer to his knuckles than he realized.

The wounds seemed to be closing, but they shouldn't. Murtagh knew they would get infected and soon enough cause blood poisoning in the right amount of time. The elder sibling stood up, against the chirps of protest from the little dragon. He went over to his younger brother cautiously, as if he were trying to comfort a frightened animal.

Eragon's head snapped up in a second. His eyes were as wide as a full moon, yet they seemed devoid of any emotion. His hands shook as if they were filled with tremors. Murtagh, still looking straight at him, went to the saddlebag and withdrew the few medical supplies they had. The older sibling felt around for the salt and bandages. The salt to disinfect it and bandages to bind the wound properly.

Eragon warily took his hands away from the flickering and waning fire and grasped the dragon egg as if it were a lifeline. The little ruby dragon sniffed the air and slithered over to Eragon's side. Its squeak of delight was followed by the little dragon's tounge licking the surface of the blue egg.

"Eragon..." Murtagh began warily. His younger sibling seemed to be under some sort of enchantment. It had something to do with the blue egg. Maybe he felt the same pull from the inner dragon as Murtagh himself had felt.

Eragon's eyes were suddenly on him in a fierce intensity. Yet at the same time, his chestnut orbs seemed flighty, jumping from one object to another. Like he was deciding which object could bring him harm.

"Eragon." Murtagh spoke with more force, bringing himself closer to his half-brother. Slowly, the son of Morzan reached for Eragon's closed fists, not caring how feral Eragon appeared.

However, even through his slit eyes and his tense reactions to being approached, Eragon knew that Murtagh was right to fix his hands. But Brom's son had no idea why he was acting so hostile.

It was like he'd been possessed. Eragon felt the heat of the fire and the cool egg between his raw fingers. He saw Murtagh grasping his wrists and gently putting salt upon his wounds.

But even then, Eragon couldn't control what he was doing nor saying. And he hated feeling powerless like this. It made him feel as he did back in Uru'baen. Always looking over his shoulder in fright. And being crushed by the weight of Galbatorix's games.

Eragon shot up in sudden pain as Murtagh bound his hands in the white gauze. Murtagh muttered an apology under his breath and then put the supplies back into the saddlebags. Nodding his approval, Eragon once again stared at the enticing patterns of white and sapphire tendrils over the egg.

It was only a few moments softly rubbing the sleek, almost watery surface that Eragon and Murtagh heard a tiny _crack._

**I hope that this chapter was good enough to satisfy. Review please!**

**Review Question: Did you like this Murtagh?**

**Happy 4th of July! **

**If you don't live in America, then still have a happy day! :)**

**Dragon Out!**


	13. Destiny Created

**I am sooooo sorry I hadn't gotten this out sooner! But I've had a few weeks that were monumental to me, my first kiss included:)**

**Anyhow, I must sincerely thank my brilliant beta UltimatumTM for working with me! THANK YOU! :)**

**Also, I also thank all you readers, as you guys keep me going! **

**Enjoy the chapter!**

_The dragon had never seen light before, only the darkness that had trapped her, ever since the Fall of the Riders. It had been her home, her own world. H__owever, now that light that burnt brighter and more ferociously than anything else, was the desire to bond with her Rider. T__he comforting blackness had never before suffocated her as much as __it did now__. Her tiny claws raked the surface of her egg, slowly but surely weakening the only barrier between her and her destined Rider._

_The dragon's belly burned with high intensity, teeth gnashing against teeth. It let out a squeak as it felt its tiny horns scrape up against the egg's roof. Shifting position, the dragon extended its __long lizard-like body in attempt to __expand the space. For now it was far too cramped inside this tiny hell. __Veins sproutedthroughout the outer shell of the egg; accompanied by the crackling of the outer expanse, she respo__nded with increased vigor. __Claws continued to rake and hound against the speck of light she had so-long wanted to see._

_Had __she been maturer in vanity__, __the sapphire dragon __would __have announced it's triumphant approval with a defiant roar and hued the sky with blue fire__. But the most the infant dragon could utter was a hum that sounded similar to __that of the__purring of a house cat. With one last frantic __brawl with her hospitality__, a tendril of light reached the dragon's unopened eyes. __It was a sense; a sense, long-waited which basked the little creature with warmth and comfort. However, something else was on her mind..._

_She then blinked open its eyes __released the protective layer of skin which protected her eyes__, __revealing__ a deep sapphire blue, __streaked with pale aqua that trailed her irises magnificently,__ that was enough to match the ocean's __stunning__ beauty. The tiny creature __registered the twinkling stars that filled the empty night, and as if requesting for a better view,__ the dragon poked its __prominent__ snout through the newly made hole, __and for the first time drew her first breath into her life-giving oxygen seemed to breathe life into the creature's body; __wings __unfasted __themselves from its back, __enabling the last push out of her captivity__.'_

_The creature of such beauty, had not set foot in Alagaesia for over a century. Even in its infant state of its life, the female dragon was blessed with shimmering scales splashed with sapphire variants, expressing its presence ever in glory. _

_Teetering from side to side, she raised her pulchritudinous head, and for the first true time, viewed her surroundings..._

_And awaited, before the stars, was Her Rider._

* * *

Eragon shook his head, trying to clear the haziness that leeched off his mind. He blinked tiredly, not quite remembering what had occurred in the past hour or so, and rubbed his hands together, or "polishing" as Galbatorix had called it, in attempt to re-ignite some warmth back to his hands. It was slightly coarser than he remembered, and he looked to see bandages which wrapped themselves tightly against his hand. The original white color had faded, partially due to the dust collected from the surrounding dirt, and a small amount of blood had dried and caked the insides of his palms. Raising an eyebrow in surprise, he started to unwrap the gauze from his hands.

"Eragon?", Murtagh walked through a group of trees, carrying firewood in his arms. When he saw what his younger half brother was doing, Murtagh sighed, put down the sticks and twigs, and came over to Eragon.

"Don't unwrap it for another few hours, then we'll change them." Murtagh observed.

He then clasped his brother's shoulder and once again picking up the wood that he tossed them into the flickering flames. The little red dragon poked its head out from Murtagh's saddlebag and scrambled out of the leather pocket. It tentatively took a few steps toward Eragon, sniffed, then waddled over to its Rider, as if his presence guaranteed safety and warranted comfort.

Smiling, Murtagh picked up the tiny ruby creature and put it on his bedroll. He already felt the closeness of their bond exponentially tighten with each passing moment. Pawing at the soft blanket, the dragon snuggled beneath it and curled up contently. It was very cute by the look of it, even with small spikes and claws which it possessed, which he knew, would soon make it a fearsome creature.

A sharp pain seared through Eragon's temples took his mind away from the scene unfolding before him. A memory, was attempting to force its way into his mind.

Eragon again attempted to grasp the tendrils of memory, but whenever it seemed to slip away from his clutches, just as he caught was frustrated and disturbed him, but also the thought of his memory loss gave him a great deal of worry. Magic could've been involved, otherwise his wards would have notified him. But the question still remained, who was powerful enough to breach his mental walls? A powerful ancient enemy. Not Galbatorix.

He knew the Mad King's habit of worming his way into minds. He knew them so well, that he could easily plot out who and how he strikes next. But his attacks were always brutal, a stabbing sword into his victims' skulls. And the memory loss.

Galbatorix _wanted_ his enemies to remember his power, his ruthlessness, and his desire to murder those who oppose him. He wanted to be the epitome of fear.

To conjure powerful spells being able to render a person with memory loss, was beyond the skills that Eragon had been able to scourge from library books during the night

One of the only races capable of such a feat would only have been in the hands of the elves. However, they had passed to legend since the Fall. The other twodistinct possibilities were the dwarves and the dragons, and since the dwarves had closed their barriers to the outside world, there was very little possibility to be at their hand.

_Could it have been a dragon?_

For some reason, the fire breathing creatures seemed more plausible to have caused this discomfort; however, they had almost been eradicated since the Fall of the Riders. Despite so, their magic was as wild and untamed as their personalities.

_The only problem is that there are only two eggs nearby..._

Suddenly he froze. The marrow of his bones turned to ice. The pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place in his tattered memory. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, causing his heart to beat with ever-increasing vigour, as the impossibility took root in his mind.

_No, it can't be._

But, could he bring himself to look? Dreading the truth, he gazed at his bandaged hands and the realisation hit him again. He couldn't_ believe _that he had been foolish enough to touch the egg.

While he was silently berating himself, a tiny _crack_ became audible. His heart stopped, then ferociously began to push against his torso. The utter unfairness of it all almost made him scream. Running parallel to his current predicament, a thought in the dark corner of his mind slowly was brought to the light.

_I won't be alone._

It made him pause, rethinking his precarious situation. This dragon has been carted off all around Alagaseia, in search for the person who would be its Rider. In hindsight, he should feel proud. But still, even with the numerous factors of the good outcomes of being a Rider, two terrible burdens hang over his head like a coming storm.

The majority of his problems were rooted to the responsibility of rebuilding and upholding the noble name of the Riders that the Mad King had so utterly tarnished. Eragon knew that many responsibilities may cause the allusion of freedom, but in reality are more binding than chains. After being chained to Uru'baen by Galbatorix for those long, fifteen years, Eragon did truly want a taste of his new independence. Now, he might never get that chance.

There is also the fact that now every man he meets will compare him to the Mad King. Many officials from the Empire knew his face and they feared him because of Galbatorix's nightmarish hell. It was never his choice to be Galbatorix's heir, nor was he ever judged by his own actions. Always the shadow of the tyrant hung above him.

Maybe the dragon would make him like Galbatorix and his thirteen traitors. But just maybe, it would be his redemption. A Rider, a destiny fashioned by his own actions. All of that seemed so very tantalizing.

_Crack_

A small hole, near the tip of the egg, popped out of place. It both gave him emotions of fear and amazement. With slightly trembling hands, Eragon ran his fingers over the smooth blue surface one last time before spider webs of cracks appeared on the egg's shell.

At last, enough of the surface of the egg was weak enough for the dragon's head to pop out of. Sapphire eyes gazed around the flickering flames and the rest of the campsite before they finally rested upon Eragon. The infant dragon let out a delighted squeak and broke through the egg's barrier.

The ocean blue color of the dragon was nothing less than majestic. The light from the fire made its scales ripple and reflect undulated light in their surroundings. The bulkiness of the creature's wings made the newborn animal nearly stumble over itself several times.

Eventually, the dragon was over by its new Rider. Its eyes held the innocence of a child, and he was gazing at the newly-born dragon unlocked a key to a chest that never existed, washing over his senses with compassion and caring love. It snaked its triangular head up towards the teen's bandaged hands. It raised a question in the escapee's mind.

_If my hands are covered, will I still be granted the gedwëy ignasia?_

Has that ever happened before? A Rider not receiving the mark? The topic had never appeared in the legends of old. Nor had it been in the _Dominance of Fate. _Eragon knew the book had been declared blasphemy. But Galbatorix kept one copy of those forbidden pages in his library. A spoil of war, the Mad King called it.

The dragon's chirp brought the young escapee out of his inner thoughts. It stretched towards his hand and grazed his palm with its horns. Immediately, the bright light that had illuminated during when Murtagh first touched his ruby dragon shone for Eragon. The bond between the two was instantly forged.

And the pair of dragon and Rider did not know that their role for turning the tides of the war waging around them was edging closer...

**And cut!**

**So was this a decent rendering of Saphira's hatching? I hope it was! R&R please!**

**Review Question: What would you rather see next chapter? More of the baby dragons, or look back at Arya, Angela, and Brom?**

**Dragon Out!**


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